“…You can milk anything with teats.” are the words I hear leave the face of my friend Matt in the poorly lit pub.
I’m not really listening and have instead been wondering if they will ever make “condensation-free pint glasses” – I think they would be called “no more tears glasses” but then I start to picture Deborah Meaden from Dragons Den telling me that I’ve solved a problem that doesn’t exist and that my £5 million valuation of the fledgling company is “crazy”.
So I snap out of my day dream and reply in a way that I hope will bring an end to the topic, “I just thought buffalo’s were men.”
Matt looks confused and for a split second I think I’ve stumped him by pointing out something he hadn’t considered. It turns out it was merely my wording that confused him.
“You mean male and no they’re not. They’re part of the cow family.”
I picture a family of cows, the mum cow vacuuming while the toddler cow eats a pack of Monster Munch at the table. For obvious reasons there is no dad cow.
I still don’t fully believe you can milk a buffalo. Next he’ll be telling me that you can microwave a puffin or if you shake a snake in the right way it produces Haribo Starmix. But I’m keen to move the conversation on.
We’ve been talking about my ignorance for a good 2 minutes now and Matt is loving it. I would say he’s milking it, but I wouldn’t do that to you.
At this point we are interrupted by a man. I think it’s going to be a welcome interruption until his motive becomes clear.
“Is this chair free mate?” he says gesturing to the chair that my bag is sitting on.
I pause for way too long while I consider my options. It’s not really free is it? It’s got my bag on it. Yeah go ahead mate, take my possessions as well, I think you’ll enjoy the wireless earphones in the side pocket. This isn’t a bus! This is a pub and the floor is so sticky that if I relegate the bag to the floor I would have to peel it off said floor when I leave.
“Well there’s not a person sitting there” I eventually mutter. I reluctantly grab my bag and make a point of holding it in my lap so he can see how much he’s inconvenienced me.
But he doesn’t seem bothered. “Cheers mate” he says and manoeuvres the seat to a nearby table of four. “If he puts his bag on it I’m going to go mad.” I say to Matt and we both know that I would do no such thing. Fortunately I don’t have to follow through on this because he is using the seat in what I would describe as a traditional manner.
There’s a brief silence after what I think we can agree was a very stressful event. I look back at my pint which is now almost empty.
“I can’t believe you didn’t know you could milk a buffalo!”
I ponder his statement for a few seconds before saying:
“Do you think they’ll ever make a pint glass that is condensation free?”